


Promises

by DayDragon



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDragon/pseuds/DayDragon
Summary: Sycamore comforts a sick Luke and is faced with the past.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Promises

"That smells nice," Aurora's voice broke the silence. She joined him in the galley of the _Bostonius_ , watching him stir the soup. Her glacier-like eyes met his for a moment. She was smiling.

Desmond Sycamore didn't smile back. Smiles were rare on the _Bostonius_ the last few days. "Thank you, Aurora." Closing the lid of the pot he turned back to the cabin, quietly finding a seat. Across from him on the sofa was Layton, fast asleep. His hat was tipped over his eyes and his feet were laid on the couch, shoes neatly underneath the table. The man was exhausted.

They all were. Even Raymond looked downtrodden, standing at the wheel as the sun set. The water of the Atlantic shimmered in the low light, illuminating the cabin with dancing lights. Sycamore let his mind wander, closing his eyes for a moment.

Two days ago Luke hadn't wanted to get out of bed. Soon enough, he barely could, burning with fever and terribly weak. Layton had stayed with him the whole time, trying to comfort the poor boy. Between his fever and the pain in his ears and chest, rest was hard to come by. Now, for the first time, he was sleeping... longer than a few hours that was. So far he had slept most of the afternoon, allowing all of them some rest. Emmy was watching over the boy now.

Sycamore folded his hands in his lap, watching Raymond fly the proud ship. Keats was missing from the couch, and he wasn't near Raymond either, the professor observed. As soon as he did so, the cat jumped onto the loveseats, taking up the other spot.

"Good evening, Keats," Sycamore greeted stiffly.

"Mrrmp," Keats returned, curling his paws under him. They eyed each other for a few moments. The cat's piercing gaze seemed to question him, sharply asking him what he was doing, why he wasn't doing anything, anything to help.

The seats creaked when Sycamore stood up again. "Please, stay seated," he told the cat, who promptly rolled over to his back. "I'm just checking on the soup."

Aurora had stayed in the galley and was studying a can opener, seeming utterly delighted when Sycamore handed her a can of cat food to open. The girl was very lost, not understanding why everyone was so down. Sycamore had explained to her that Luke wasn't well, but she didn't really understand. The Azran, she explained, rarely got physical problems, and never anything like this.

The girl let out a gasp when the food can opened, giggling when Keats promptly appeared by her side. Seeing her try to step away from the cat so she could set down the plate softened Sycamore's eyes. She was so wise, yet so... innocent. Truly different.

The soup appeared ready. Adding some noodles to a bowl, he prepared a platter for Luke- a bowl of soup, some cucumber, and a cup of tea. "I'm going to see if he'll eat, if he's awake," the professor told Aurora. By now she was happily stroking the cat. "Make sure Keats doesn't get on the counter."

"I will!" she promised brightly.

When Sycamore entered the captain's cabin, Emmy stood up from the chair by the window. Originally, Luke had been sleeping in the guest's quarters like the rest of them, sharing a room with Layton. Sycamore had no hesitation in giving up his much more comfortable bed to the boy though. Although comfortable and cozy, the guest's quarters were a bit small and stuffy, a far shot from his own bright, well-aired room, with its soft carpet and big bed.

"How is he?" Sycamore whispered, setting down the platter. "Still asleep?"

"Barely," Emmy replied, looking at the scrunched bundle of blankets. "He's been waking and falling back asleep for a while now. He's having fever dreams, I'm sure."

With a nod from the professor, Emmy left the room. When she did, Luke moved under the blankets, rolling over. A few seconds later, he peeked out over the blanket, his mess of curls plastered to his forehead.

Sycamore sat down in the chair by his bed, smiling gently. "Good evening."

Luke rolled to face him. "Hi," he croaked back, bleary-eyed. The boy was flushed with fever, big bags under his eyes. Slowly sitting up, he rubbed them with his fists.

Before he could sit back, Sycamore fluffed the pillows. "How are you feeling?"

"Sticky," Luke returned tiredly. "Sticky and really bad."

"That sounds about correct," Sycamore's face softened. "Want to wash up before you eat?"

Luke grimaced. "I don't know about eating," he mumbled, "but a bath..." pushing himself off the headrest the boy turned to sit on the bed's edge. He gladly took Sycamore's offered hand, slowly standing up.

Two muscled arms shot out to instinctively catch him when he almost toppled over. The curly-haired professor kneeled, resting Luke against his chest. "I have you," he promised the burning boy.  
  
"I'm scared," Luke gripped the lapels of Sycamore's suit, shivering.  
  
The man wrapped him in his arms. "It's going to be all right," he promised, stroking the boy over the head. "It's going to be okay, I promise. Up we go!" Sycamore stood, lifting the boy. Light and small, the professor couldn't help but cradle him close.

With Luke now laying safely in his arms it was no problem getting him to the bathroom for a shower. While he did so, Sycamore picked up some new pajamas and changed the bed, letting the boy settle in all clean and fresh when he appeared again.

Sycamore hummed, gently brushing Luke's curls. Sitting behind the boy in the bed, untangling knots while Luke ate, they were quiet for a long while. "... You do that nice," Luke eventually murmured.

"Hm?" the brush stopped.

"That's nice..." Luke repeated tiredly, settling deeper against Sycamore's chest.

"Good to hear," the comment brought a smile to the man's face. The brushing resumed.  
The professor admired Luke's hair, intrigued by the many mixed colours. At first glance it appeared a mousey, dirty blonde or light brown, but when you looked closer strands of blonde, ash, even gold started appearing. It reminded him of time spent brushing out deep chestnut hair, warm and shining, almost like the waves possessed their own light.

Tears dripped into the boy's hair. With a shock Sycamore realised he was crying. A knot had formed in his throat, overwhelmed by the memory of a girl's happy laughter and a warm hug. Despite his swallowing, the tears didn't stop. He sniffed hard, putting down the brush and covering his face.

Luke looked up at the professor. Without a word he scooted around, hugging him tight. "It's gonna be okay," he assured, burying his face into the man's chest.

His glasses forgotten on top of his head, Sycamore rested his forehead on Luke's curls. Burning tears flowing down his cheeks, he sobbed.

Luke tightened his hug. "It's going to be okay. I promise."


End file.
